


Resonances

by FabulaRasa



Category: DCU, DCU (Animated), DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1698293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulaRasa/pseuds/FabulaRasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story was written as a continuation of <a href="http://khazadspoon.tumblr.com/">Khazadspoon</a>'s short story <a href="http://khazadspoon.tumblr.com/post/86591623792/think-i-have-to-prompt-this-because-i-think-it-didnt">here</a>, written to fulfill a prompt from <a href="http://vimeddiee.tumblr.com/">Vimeddiee</a>.</p><p>In my continuation of that story, the beginning of Clark and Bruce's relationship becomes intertwined with the beginning of Hal and Barry's, when Hal sees something he really, <i>really</i> was not supposed to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bruce had already begun briefing the League when Clark arrived. He could hear that voice from down the corridor, because he was listening for it—had been listening from the second he set foot on the Watchtower. He could feel that baritone's timbre before he even put his hand on the doorpad; could feel it vibrating _into_ his fingers, somehow. 

And then he was walking quickly into the conference room, and everyone's eyes were flicking his direction. "Sorry," he said quietly, heading to his seat at the table. He would save the long explanation involving Kara and the asteroid belt for later. For now, there was a briefing to listen to, and. . . Bruce.

Bruce's presence was a fist in the gut. 

They had spoken every day of the last week. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. 

_I missed you._

_I missed you too._

_If I kissed you, would that be okay._

_More than okay._

_You can strip me bare._

_Anything for you._

He became aware he was standing with his hand on his chair, just looking at Bruce. Drinking him in. And Bruce had stopped talking, and was looking at him too, and neither of them was moving. He could actually feel the thin tremor in his skin from the restraint it required not to cross the room in two paces and seize Bruce into his arms, bury his face and mouth and body in Bruce. Bruce's eyes said the same to him.

" _Get a room_ ," Hal murmured, so softly that not even Barry sitting next to him could have heard it. Clark did, of course.

"No problem," Bruce said, with a nod to Clark. "We were just getting started." Those few heads that hadn't raised in surprise at the unusual pause, were now looking in shock at Batman. Bruce didn't respond well to being interrupted, much less to late arrivals. Clark took his seat in silence, and Bruce continued, turning to the screen behind them.

"Here is the map of Bane's distribution pattern. As you can see, he's following typical cartel routes throughout southeast Asia, with significant expansions into central Russia through Kazakhstan. From there, distribution to Europe and South America. But what I want to draw your attention to is this other map—" he swiped to the next screen—"here."

Lantern frowned and leaned forward. "You seriously think Bane's picking up goods from alien merchants."

"I do. And what's more, I can prove that some of what he's moving has extraterrestrial provenance, because what rudimentary analysis I was able to run while undercover shows non-periodic traces." He moved to the next slide. "But beyond chemical analysis, I have confirmation from Bane himself. When I was undercover, I spent a day and a half with him, posing as a potential buyer from Ulan Bator who wanted information on—"

"Hold on," Clark said. Now he was the one leaning forward. "You did what?"

Every head swiveled in Clark's direction. "I spent time with Bane himself," Bruce said. "It ended up being the only way I could confirm what was really going on, and in the end it proved that he—"

"You spent time with him," Clark said. "Face to face, with Bane? The man, if that's even what he is anymore, who is obsessed with destroying you?"

A beat before Bruce answered, and whatever warning there was in that pause, Clark brushed it aside. "Yes," Bruce said. "That would be the meaning of 'undercover mission.' And I'm well aware of Bane's animosity, which I happen to remember."

" _Animosity?_ Bruce, he snapped your _spine_ in half. And you thought it would be a good idea to paste on a fake beard and place yourself at that kind of risk for a glorified drug bust?"

It was the ominous silence that alerted him. Diana's astonished frown was glaring at him, and Barry was looking at him in open horror, like he was watching someone walk naked into oncoming traffic. And then Clark heard what he had said, and flushed. "I'm sorry," he said, into the quiet. Bruce hadn't moved, was just looking at him. "I didn't mean—I apologize." 

He subsided into his seat, and after another pause, Bruce turned and resumed as though there had been no interruption. Clark kept his eyes on the table for the rest of the briefing. It had been a spectacular relationship, it really had, but apparently four minutes in the same room was the limit of what they could manage. It was just that he had felt it in the center of his body, with a terrifying vertiginous rush—what it would mean to lose Bruce before he had even held him in his arms. His terror at the danger Bruce had been in had spilled out his lips before he had even thought—a danger Bruce had been immersed in every day, while his nights had been spent talking to Clark.

_I missed you._

_More than okay._

_Anything for you._

And then the meeting was over, and everyone was dispersing. Hal was laughing about something, and the sound of his usually pleasant voice was grating and annoying. Clark continued sitting there. He was aware of one or two glances in his direction. The room emptied, and he still sat there. Bruce was clicking through the slides again, reviewing the map with a thoughtful expression. 

Clark rose. "You're furious," he said.

"Mm hm."

"You have every right to be."

"Mm hm."

"I let my emotions get the better of me. I wasn't prepared for. . . I wasn't prepared."

Bruce clicked off the screen and turned to him. "Please say something," Clark said.

"You made a mistake. It hit me hard too, seeing you."

"Oh," Clark said. "That's it?"

"No. I will have a lot more to say on the subject, later on. But first," he said, as he pushed back his cowl, "I think we have other business. First, I get my kiss."

Every cell in Clark's body clenched in joy, spilled over with sunlight. "Demanding," he said.

"You don't know the half of it."

Clark reached a thumb to Bruce's jaw. "I can't believe I'm touching you," he whispered. 

"Please," Bruce said, just as soft. Clark bent his mouth to Bruce's. The kiss was hesitant, exploratory. Clark ended by rubbing his bottom lip against Bruce's. 

"How are you so beautiful," he said. 

"More," Bruce said, his voice more guttural, and this kiss was not hesitant. He moaned around Bruce's tongue, and swallowed his next moan in some embarrassment, until he found just the right spot in Bruce's mouth and pulled him in even closer. Then it was Bruce who was groaning. All of a sudden Clark could not touch enough, could not reach enough flesh. He felt the table against his backside, as Bruce was pushing at him. 

"You gonna fuck me right here?" Clark panted.

"If I have to." 

"Touch me, just touch me." 

"I'm trying, but we're not exactly wearing the best clothes for this."

Clark pulled his mouth free. "Secure doors," he said loudly. "Authorization Zero-One." Bruce was smirking at him, and then Clark's deft fingers found the catches on the Batsuit he was looking for, and Bruce wasn't smirking anymore. 

"You said you wanted to see me hard," Bruce said. "That x-ray vision has got to be good for something."

"It's not the same," Clark said, working at more catches. "God, let me see you, let me get my mouth on you." Bruce was working on his suit, too, but that was a lost cause, Clark would have to deal with that. Bruce settled for pressing the heel of his hand against the outline of Clark's cock. 

"I just want to feel you in my hand," Bruce was whispering. "I've thought so long about what that would feel like, about watching you come, feeling it on my fingers."

"Christ," Clark swore. He peeled off the upper part of his suit and ripped at Bruce's underlayer. Bruce's eyebrows shot up. "That was probably expensive, huh," Clark said.

"Ah, yes."

"Whoops," Clark said, and started laughing. Bruce's beautiful face creased in a smile, and he was laughing softly, too. They were kissing again, and Bruce had his hands cupped around Clark's ass, pressing him into the table, pressing into him. "You're good at this," Clark said.

"I've done this quite a few times before. This is one of my favorite jack-off fantasies."

"Oh God—that feels—" 

Bruce was rubbing against him, hard to his hard now. They hadn't managed to take off more than the top part of their suits, and though Clark had released the groin catch on Bruce's suit, Bruce's cock was still covered in the thin dark underlayer. Clark could feel the heat off him. He ate Bruce's mouth, messy and sloppy. "Every night," he panted. "Been jerking off every night, thinking about—this."

"I know," Bruce said, warm against his mouth. "I was on the other end of the line, I remember."

"Yeah. And I—God, what you sound like, your voice when you're coming—"

"Yeah?"

"I can get hard from your voice alone, it's so hot, you're so hot, Christ, just—"

"Slow down," Bruce breathed into his ear, and Clark wanted to sob, he couldn't slow down, why could Bruce not understand. 

"I—I can't—shit, _Bruce_ —" He turned his head to the side and bit his lip, trying to control it. 

"Okay," Bruce whispered, "okay, hang on, I'm with you."

"Nngh," Clark groaned, his body convulsing, shuddering in sticky pleasure inside his suit. " _Fuck_." Bruce was still rutting against him, breathing hard. Clark slipped back against the table, and Bruce was stretching out practically on top of him, just riding him. 

"You beautiful—son of a— _God_ ," Bruce panted open-mouthed, his hips slamming into Clark's still sensitive groin. "Oh fuck, oh— _Clark_ —"

Bruce's neck arched back, and Clark felt every shudder, rode it with him. Then Bruce's full weight rolled on top of him in blissful collapse, and Clark struggled to catch his breath. After a minute, he lifted his head. "Jack off fantasy, really?"

"Mm hm." Bruce's voice was lazy and sated, rich and slow like a warm river. Would he ever get to the end of that voice, and all the things it could do to him, all the things he could find in it?

Clark hoisted himself on an elbow. "Mmph. Has this room always done that thing where it spins to the right?"

"Left," Bruce murmured, eyes still closed. 

Clark bent over top of him. "So that's what that looks like," he said, "up close. You coming."

Bruce's eyes slowly opened. It was shocking, the gray-blue of them. Tiny points of warm fire. "Part of me thought," he said, and stopped. 

"Part of you thought what?"

The warm fire flicked to the side, looking away. "That you would see me and. . . change your mind. That maybe I had imagined the whole thing. All of this past week."

Clark wrapped arms around him and held him close. He couldn't think of a thing to say to that, because it was exactly what he had thought, too. He sighed. "How long do we have before you remember how pissed you are at me?"

"Fifteen minutes, tops."

"Okay. We'd better get busy then."

Bruce's soft laugh reverberated against Clark's chest, vibrated through his body.

* * *

"Hal? You ready?"

"Yeah, hang on, just a sec. Shit." He looked around the auxiliary monitor room, glancing at the chair where he had been sitting. "Did you see my phone?"

"Not again," Barry sighed. "You can keep track of a ring, but not something the size of your fist?"

"I _wear_ the ring," he pointed out. "Dammit. I swear to God I just had the damn thing. This is like, the third time today."

"Fourth. Come on, we're gonna miss the game."

"We're not gonna miss the game. And I'm not leaving without my phone. Where did I. . ."

"Conference room," Barry sighed. "You probably left it in the conference room."

"Yes!" Hal said. He tried his most ruefully winsome smile. "Say, Bar, you wouldn't mind. . ."

"Yes I _would_ mind, as a matter of fact. I'm hungry, I could eat at least five pizzas, and I'm not going to burn energy running after your stupid phone because you can't manage to remember how to be an adult for thirty consecutive minutes. Now will you please just go get your phone so we can get out of here?"

"Cranky," Hal said. "I just meant, you're so eager for us to get out of here and watch the game, and it would save time for you to run check, is the only reason I mentioned it. Oh wait, hang on," and he clicked a few keys at the nearest monitor keyboard. 

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Conference room is five levels down, I'm not running all the way there just to find out it's not there. I can just flip the video feed in the conference room and see if it's there or not."

"Not if you left it in your chair," Barry observed.

"But I didn't, because I distinctly remember snapchatting Carol during Bats' painfully boring briefing, and I needed the right angle on those funny little ears, so I had to have my phone on the table."

"You—" Barry rubbed at his forehead. "You snapchatted a picture of Batman. To a civilian."

"It was _Carol_ , for fuck's sake, keep your. . ." Hal stared at the monitor. 

"Is it there?"

Hal blinked at the screen. "Ah," he said. 

"Because I am not going to go down there to get it, if you're trying to make me."

Hal blinked again, his eyes wide. And then he spluttered a laugh. "Holy shit," he gasped.

"What?"

"Holy mother of Mohammed's flea-bitten camel. Sweet Jesus," he laughed. 

" _What?_ "

"Take a look," and he spun the monitor Barry's direction, grinning at him. 

Barry's face sobered instantly. "Turn that off," he said.

"Are you kidding me? Turn it _off?_ "

"You heard me," he said, and something in his voice made Hal obey.

"Aren't you the enemy of fun tonight," he grumbled.

"No I'm not. I just didn't feel like dealing with it."

"Feel like dealing with what?"

Barry's gaze was level. "With whatever borderline homophobic remark was about to come out of your fratboy mouth, that's what. And I would have to stand here and act like it didn't bother me, like it wasn't about me. I've had a long day, I'm tired as fuck, and I just wanted to watch the goddamn game."

Hal was blinking at him, now. "Homophobic," he said. "That's what you think of me."

"You were laughing," Barry said, more quietly. "It's a joke to you. Two guys together, that's just a visual joke. Even those two, which I'm sorry, is about the most beautiful thing I've seen all year, maybe all decade, and I'm incredibly happy for both of them. Only _you_ look at them, and you wouldn't see two beautiful people loving each other. You would just see a joke. That's all guys like you ever see, because sure, you vote Democratic, and sure you laugh at bigots waving signs about fags going to hell, and who knows, you might even give money to the HRC and tell yourself what a good guy you are, how you're not like those other assholes. But at the end of the day, it's a joke to you. And that's the truth."

Hal watched him walk to the door. His chest felt hollowed out, empty. He opened his mouth to say something, and shut it. "I'm headed back," Barry said. "I don't really feel like watching the game any more. I'm sure I'll apologize tomorrow, and we'll be fine, and you can forget I ever said any of this. But just. . . not tonight, all right? Just not tonight."

He was gone, and Hal was alone, staring at a blank screen and a closed door, wondering what the hell had just happened. For a long time he sat there just looking at his hands and replaying the last fifteen minutes in his head. After a while he leaned forward and put his head in his hands, closing his eyes. 

" _Fuck_ ," he whispered, into his hands.

When he sat up, he clicked the monitor back on. He looked at the now-empty conference room on his screen. He tapped his finger thoughtfully, as though debating something internally, and then with a few determined clicks, he dipped into the system's memory and pulled up the footage, setting the clock to half an hour ago. He sat there and watched the scene in the conference room play out, and he hit the audio, too. It was just the auxiliary monitor room, with the one door, and there was no one else around.

When he had watched the whole thing, not moving, he hit a few more keys and queued it up again. He watched it through twice, with sound. When he was finished he turned off the monitor and put his head back in his hands.

* * *

The buzzing in Barry's ear would not stop. It expanded to fill his entire skull. What had probably happened was that he had finally gone too fast, and the vibrations were tearing apart his cranium. He was going to shatter from the inside out, he was shaking to pieces that would explode outward into space.

Or, he had left his phone on vibrate under his pillow.

"Jesus," he moaned into the phone. "It's three in the morning."

"I know, so can I come over?"

Barry rolled over, scrubbing at his face, trying to find consciousness. "I just got to sleep like an hour ago."

"Okay. So can I come over?"

He sighed, stretching and yawning. "If I said no, what would you probably do?"

"I would probably come over."

"So this phone call is what? A formality?"

"No," said Hal. "It's a courtesy. To give you time to get on your pants. Oh, also, can you put on some coffee for me? I've got to be on flight deck in like an hour and a half."

"Hal," Barry groaned, but he stumbled up and splashed water on his face and even plugged in the coffee maker. He defiantly did not put on pants, however; Hal could deal with him shirtless and in his pajamas, if he was determined to barge over to his friend's apartment at three in the goddamned morning. 

"I'm sorry," was the first thing Hal said, when Barry opened the door.

Barry sighed. "Come on in then. I told you we could talk about it tomorrow, and it wouldn't have to be a big deal."

"Oh, it's a big deal. And I'm apologizing for waking you up in the middle of the night, not for anything I did before, because you were kind of an asshole to me."

Barry crossed his arms. "I was an asshole to you."

"Yes, wrap your head around it. Little known fact — Barry Allen, apostle of kindness, courtesy, and decency, is occasionally an asshole. Move, I need coffee."

Barry locked the door behind him, and he watched Hal rifle through his kitchen for the massive amounts of sugar he was going to pour into his coffee. "I have milk," he offered. 

"You know I don't take milk."

"I know, but I figure if I keep offering, one of these days you will realize that is the healthier choice than pouring a metric assload of sugar into your system."

Hal left the kitchen with his coffee, and made himself comfortable in Barry's favorite chair in the living room. Barry sat on the sofa. Hal sipped his coffee and studied him. "So as it turns out, I'm the asshole," Barry said, by way of conversation. "Remind me how that goes again?"

Hal was still looking thoughtful. He tapped his finger on the side of his mug. The reticence was unusual in Hal, to say the least. For a minute Barry thought Hal might actually say nothing; it was not impossible that Hal would just sit there and drink up all his coffee and then get up and leave. _Great talk_ , he would probably say the next day.

"That was a hell of a way to come out to me," Hal said, so quietly Barry almost didn't catch it.

"I know," Barry said. "I didn't intend to make it about that."

"I realize that. I realize you would have been perfectly happy never revealing your sexual identity to me at all. Presumably because I am such an asshole I can't possibly be trusted to be anyone's best friend. Because why would you ever trust _me_ , right?"

Barry was silent, and looked at his hands. "I'm not what you're probably thinking," he said after a while. "I'm not gay."

"Yeah Bar, because not only am I untrustworthy, apparently I'm a fucking idiot, so I'm unlikely to understand the difference between gay and bisexual. Why don't you draw me some pictures. Jesus Christ." 

Barry crossed his arms over his chest, and wished he had put on a shirt. This conversation was making him feel naked enough. "I didn't consciously mean. . . I didn't intend to hide anything from you. It just. . . never came up."

Hal just looked at him over the rim of his coffee mug, and Barry dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. 

Hal just nodded, kind of absently, like he was thinking about something else. He drained his coffee, then went back into the kitchen for more. When he came back he sat on the sofa next to Barry. "You should also know that you were right," he said. "Right in that what you said about me was not wrong. I can be kind of a douche about gay stuff, and I don't mean to be. But it's not for the reason you think."

Barry couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he said nothing. Hal was staring down into the depths of his coffee. "I did something that would really piss you off, if you knew it," he said. 

"What did you do?"

"I went into the security footage and watched them."

Barry felt the blood wash from his face. "Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Hal." 

"Yeah."

"Why the _fuck_ did you do that."

"Because it got me hot." He was just sitting there, calmly sipping his coffee. Unbidden Barry got the image he did not want to see, which was Hal stretched back in that monitor room chair, respiration quickening, cock filling. He pushed down the image of Hal's cock, and bit his lip. 

"The thing is," Hal said, setting his coffee down on the table in front of the sofa. "There's a hell of a lot about me you don't know. Yeah, guys get me hot. But I don't have any. . . positive associations with that. It's not. . . like with you, probably. I have had sex with guys. I have had sex with a lot of guys. I am willing to bet my lifetime bodycount far eclipses yours. That's something you didn't know this morning, I'm betting."

"I did not," Barry said quietly. 

"The sex that I had was not fun for me. It was. . . it was a job. You understand what I'm telling you."

"Yes." 

Hal was silent, and glanced at Barry like maybe he was waiting for Barry to say something else. "It wasn't. . . there were reasons. You don't know. . . the reasons why."

"I know maybe more than you think."

Hal's hands were fisted knots. Barry wanted to reach for them, pull him into his arms. He knew Hal would not welcome it, so he sat there. "Aren't you going to tell me to leave," Hal said. "Don't you know what that makes me."

"My best friend," Barry said.

"No I'm not. You don't even trust me enough to. . . just, no. I'm not."

"I didn't say, my best friend whom I had never failed. Maybe I had some reasons for not telling you that didn't have anything to do with you."

"Yeah, like what."

"Like, I'm attracted to you and was afraid to make that part of the conversation. Because if you asked I would have to tell you the truth."

Hal's eye were dark pits. They were warm and brown and utterly beautiful, on most days, but when he was tired it seemed like all the brown in them darkened to charcoal. They were looking at him now, and not blinking. "Okay," he said, "go back to the part where you thought that if you said to me _hey Hal, I'm bi_ , I would say, _oh okay, so are you attracted to me?_ Do you even. . . why the hell are you even my friend, if you think all these things about me?"

Barry flushed. "I'm sorry," he said again. "Like I said, it doesn't have anything to do with you, it's my issue."

Hal snorted, like he didn't quite believe that one, and went back to his coffee. Barry hesitated before he spoke again. "Because of what happened to you, you think it changes your sexual identity," he said. "It doesn't."

"It didn't _happen_ to me, a piano wasn't dropped on my head or something, but thanks there, Dr. Allen."

"I do actually have a doctorate."

"In forensic science, not psychology, so keep your diploma in your pants if you don't mind."

"That's not even remotely where I keep my diploma."

Hal leaned against the back of the sofa and laughed. He sounded even more tired when he laughed. Barry smiled too, because it was good to see those lines on Hal's face soften. "There's no way you can be in the air in an hour," Barry said. "You are going to collapse."

"Nah, I can push through it, I've been worse off."

"You don't want to call Carol and tell her you're sick, ask her to push back the flight time? You can crash here if you want."

"Well. . . probably I should have thought of that before my two cups of coffee. Look, Bar, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was an asshole today, I'm sorry I woke you up, I'm just. . . sorry, you know?" 

Barry reached over and rubbed his leg, then the back of his head. "Hey," he said. "It's okay. As you pointed out, I'm kind of an asshole too."

"Yeah," Hal said into his hands. "So there's that."

"I still cannot quite believe you did that."

"Did what?"

"Watched them."

"Oh." Hal looked up. "Yeah, I kind of did do that, didn't I. Twice, actually. Jesus, Bar. They were. . . they literally fucked in the conference room."

The image coiled in Barry's abdomen, and moved lower. "Well," he said. "It's not like no one ever suspected."

"No, actually it was their first time."

Barry's eyes widened, and he blinked at Hal. "Their first time. And you would know this because. . ."

"Yeah, audio too. If you're gonna do a thing, do it right."

" _Hal_."

"I know, I know! I feel bad."

"Not bad enough to have stopped after the first time, apparently."

Hal grinned at that. "Apparently not. Don't you want to hear about it, even a little?"

" _No!_ No I absolutely do not."

"Even just the tiniest bit."

"Hal, I said _no_."

"Okay, you're a better man than I am, but we already knew that. I will respect your wishes then. I will absolutely not tell you what Bruce sounds like when he comes."

Barry's throat closed, and he knew his swallow was audible. "Stop," he said, but it was maybe too faint to hear, because Hal didn't.

"And I won't tell you how Clark could not get enough of touching him, or how he called him beautiful, or how they kissed like they were eating each other's faces off. Or how they came without getting their pants off, just rubbing against each other."

"Why are you doing this," Barry whispered. 

"Because I'm trying to turn you on."

"It's working."

"Are you thinking about it?"

"Yes," Barry said.

"Because you were right, it was fucking beautiful. If I had touched myself, I would have come. I was so close. They were so fucking hot."

"Hal," Barry said, his voice a strangled gasp. 

Hal moved like that was the permission he had been waiting for. He knelt between Barry's knees, in between Barry and the coffee table. He ran his hands up Barry's thighs. "It took them like thirty seconds to come, they were so cranked." His hands were on the inside of Barry's thighs now, pushing them apart. He reached for the drawstring on Barry's pajamas.

"Can I," he whispered. Barry nodded. Hal loosened his pants, and his cock sprang out. It was mostly hard already, just from listening to the things Hal had been saying. Hal was looking at his cock. 

"Fucking gorgeous," he said softly. "I knew you would be."

"Hal." Some part of Barry's brain re-entered his body, and he put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You don't have to. . . what are you doing."

"What I've thought about for a long time. It doesn't ever have to happen again. We can pretend it didn't, even. Just. . . I need this right now. I need your cock in my mouth. Can I just suck you?"

Barry was beyond words at this point, so he just nodded. There was a firm hand stroking his thigh. "I want you to think about it," Hal was saying. "While I'm sucking you. I want you to think about what I saw, about the two of them."

"Fuck," Barry panted. Hal was licking at the tip of his cock. For a terrifying moment he was afraid he was going to come right there. "Oh fuck, _Hal_." He put a hand on Hal's head, wanting to dig fingers into that lush chestnut mane, but pulled back. Hal reached for his hand and put it back on his head, so Barry let himself dig in.

"God you're—so fucking good at this—oh _Christ_."

Hal sucked cock with wicked and deadly intent. There was nothing teasing or artful about it. There was a tongue that flicked in and out of his slit, and fingers that kneaded his balls. "Hal," he said. "I'm not—gonna last."

He gave up and planted his feet, letting himself thrust into that mouth. Hal's deep throat game was unbelievable. No one had ever sucked Barry's cock quite like this. "God, Hal, move—move your mouth."

"Why?" Hal had raised his head fractionally.

"Because I'm—it—I'm gonna come so hard." He was shaking.

"And you don't want it to be in my mouth?" Hal's finger was rubbing at the underside of his cock, a steady slick motion.

"Ahh," Barry managed, and the first spurt arced up. Hal's mouth clamped around him, and he let himself go, fucking up into Hal's mouth, spasming. " _God! Fuck!_ " were the last syllables he had strength for, because things were happening in his body he was not entirely prepared for. 

It was like a neural lightning storm, being sucked by Hal. He sank back against the sofa drained, still quivering with it. Hal was licking him dry. Hal had swallowed his come. Hal was kissing the softening length of him. "Oh my God," Barry said to the ceiling. 

"Thank you," Hal said. His forehead was resting against Barry's thigh. His voice sounded strange. More than strange. 

"Come here," Barry said, and Hal shook his head. "Oh God baby, come here," Barry said, and pulled him up, folding him in his arms while Hal shook, wrapping him in arms that did not, would not let go. Hal clutched at him like he was the only still thing in the room. 

"You know I love you," Barry whispered into his ear, kissing his neck, his head, anything he could reach. "You know I'm in love with you, always have been. We don't ever have to talk about that either. Oh God, baby, Hal, please, it's okay, I'm here, I'm never not gonna be here."

"Shit," Hal moaned. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to do this." 

Barry managed to hoist himself up, and Hal with him. Hal had about twenty-five pounds on him, so maneuvering him was difficult under the best of circumstances, but he let himself be led. Barry took him by the hand into the bedroom. Barry undressed him with infinite care. Barry kissed his shoulders with gentle kisses. Barry laid him in his bed and slid in beside him, still enfolding him. He was asleep before Barry had even finished arranging the blankets around them, so Barry reached for the pants on the floor and dug out Hal's phone. He sent Carol a text saying he was sick, and asking for a flight delay. Hal would probably kill him for that, but right now Barry could really give a shit.

Hal turned, burrowing into Barry. Nothing had ever felt sweeter. He had been waiting his whole life to feel this. Hal mumbled something in his sleep. "Shh," Barry said, tucking Hal's head onto his shoulder.

* * *

Barry tried to be as quiet as he could in the kitchen, but even when exhausted, Hal was a light sleeper. So he wasn't that surprised when about ten o'clock, Hal stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, hair more or less perpendicular to his head. "Oh my God," he moaned, and leaned on the kitchen counter, gripping it. "Oh God."

He had pulled on his pants, but nothing else. Wordlessly Barry put a cup of coffee in front of him, and a banana. God only knew what the state of Hal's electrolytes was. Hal squinted at him. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Sick day," Barry said. "Turns out I woke up with a fever."

"Sorry to hear that. Feeling better?"

"Not until about three o'clock this afternoon, thanks for asking. I texted Carol, by the way."

"I saw," Hal yawned. He scrubbed at the back of his head. He looked dubiously at the banana. "So I had this horrible nightmare," he said. "I dreamed I busted down my best friend's door at three a.m., drank his coffee, gobbled his dick like a cockhungry whore, burst into tears, and then fell asleep in his bed. Please tell me none of that happened."

Barry studied him over his coffee. "It didn't happen," he said. "None of that ever happened."

Something settled over Hal's face. He stood upright then, like a man squaring his shoulders to pick up a burden he had temporarily set down. "Right," he said. "Okay."

"What happened was this," Barry said. He put his coffee cup in the sink and ran some water over it. "What happened was, my best friend came to my house to talk to me about some important stuff, and I was glad to see him. Then he gave me the best orgasm of my life, and afterwards he let me hold him, which felt even better than the orgasm. And then he fell asleep in my arms, and when I woke up, all I could think was, God, how did I get this lucky."

Hal's face was curiously ashen, behind its tan. "Is that what happened," he said hoarsely.

"Yeah. That's about the sum of it. And now what's going to happen is, we're going to go back to some parts we might have skipped last night."

"We are?"

Barry planted himself in front of Hal. He backed him into the counter. "We are. Right now we are going to kiss for the first time. It will be a kiss for the ages. It is going to be amazing, and wonderful, and it is going to reorder our lives in all sorts of ways we couldn't have foreseen."

"I—" Hal turned his head sharply away. "Barry," he whispered. "I am so fucked up, you don't even know."

"Mm," Barry said, considering. "There's a condition, though. It's not negotiable."

"Is this going to be about waking you up at three in the morning?"

"No," Barry said soberly, and he waited until he had Hal's eyes. "It's about language."

" _Language_. You have got to be kidding me."

"The condition is this. You use that word again—in play, in earnest, I don't care—but you use that word just one more time, and my anger will be something you don't want to see. You've never seen me really angry. Do you accept my condition?"

Hal was silent, and had long ago dropped his eyes. He didn't say what word. Barry didn't say the word either. "You think," Hal said, and stopped. Barry watched him gather himself for the rest of the sentence. "You think not using a word can alter reality?"

"I think words can change what we think about reality. And we start where we can. If you know that word is not my reality, then maybe after a while—" and here he put his hand on the side of Hal's head. "Maybe it can stop being your reality, in here. Because I know that's where that word lives, every day."

"It was just an expression."

"You're such a good liar, sometimes it's hard to catch you."

Barry's hand slipped down, but Hal turned into it, caught it in his, pressed it to his mouth. His eyes were closed. Hal's breath on his palm made Barry's cock stir. Hal's lips were moving to his wrist now. He was kissing a little path around Barry's wrist, to the back of his hand, then back to the center of his palm, where a small flick of moist heat pulled a hungry grunt from Barry's throat.

"Don't you—don't you want to kiss me," Barry said. 

Hal's eyes flicked to his. "You have no idea what I want to do to you." 

"Okay," Barry said, pressing closer. "Well, I can see that's going to be a problem. Because I think it's my turn to do some things to—" He reared back. "Wow," he said. "Your breath smells awfully minty fresh for someone who just rolled out of bed. Did you bring a toothbrush with you last night?"

"No," Hal said, wincing.

"You jackwagon, did you. . . did you _use_ my _toothbrush?_ "

"I. . . yes?"

"Hal!"

"I thought you would appreciate it! Just in case, you know, things went better than I was hoping they would this morning! Which evidently they _are_ , or they _were_ , or. . . what exactly is happening?"

Barry crossed his arms. "It's just gross, is all."

"You were about to stick your _tongue_ down my throat! How is using your toothbrush grosser than that?"

"I don't know, it just is! It feels like a violation."

"Oh for God's sake, are you kidding me?"

"No, I'm not! It just seems like you could have asked, is all. You knew I was up, you were obviously up, why couldn't you have stuck your head in the kitchen and said _Hey Barry do you mind if I_ —"

Hal lunged forward and caught Barry's mouth in his. Barry had actually been mid-inhale, so he stuttered his breath and swallowed more of Hal's mouth. "Oh," he moaned, as Hal's tongue began _doing_ things in his mouth. He grabbed at the counter, which was suddenly behind him, and then re-thought his strategy, because that was obviously problematic. He gripped Hal's beautiful bare arms, the back of his head, the warm small of his back. When he had said that kissing would reorder their lives, he hadn't meant it in quite the way it appeared to be happening, because kissing Hal was kind of reordering his kitchen floor, for one thing. Everything felt unstable under his feet, like it was lurching to one side. Hal's mouth was the only still point, Hal's hands on his back the only anchor. He didn't know where to touch first, where to grip to keep himself upright, so he settled for Hal's ass.

"So you see my point now, about the toothbrush," Hal was whispering against his lips.

"Okay, yes, good, point conceded," Barry whispered back, and kissed him again.

* * *

"Good?" Clark could barely get the syllable out. Bruce made a noise between a sigh and a groan. 

"Slow," he said.

Clark withdrew, achingly slowly, and pushed back in again, even more slowly. "God!" Bruce's neck snapped back, and the vein on the side pulsed. "God, that's good."

Clark had to close his eyes. The sight of Bruce like this was going to send him over the edge. They had barely slept, and he knew Bruce had to be exhausted. But every time they had fallen asleep, Bruce was the one who would rouse, Bruce was the one bending him back for more kisses, Bruce was the one whose hand found Clark's cock, massaged his balls, moved them on to the next round. 

_Insatiable_ , Clark had murmured into the dark.

 _I've waited long enough_ , had been Bruce's answer.

"Do you have any idea," Clark panted, "what you look like right now."

"Mm," Bruce said, his eyes slipping closed. They hadn't tried face to face yet, and this was a revelation. Bruce was so extraordinarily limber, which of course he should have guessed. Those powerful legs wrapped around his waist, all that strength and beauty lying there as Clark fucked into it, moving as slowly as he possibly could just to watch the wave of sensation on Bruce's face with each slide in and out of his hole—it was almost too much. 

"Touch yourself," Clark said. Bruce's hand on his thickening cock was as slow as Clark's thrusts. Clark watched him. He wondered if that would always be the sight he found hottest in the world—Bruce jacking himself. Just the thought of it, when they had been on the comms together, had been enough to make him come. Just the sound of Bruce's voice, tightening as he spilled over the edge. 

Bruce groaned again, and shifted the angle of his legs. "Okay?" Clark asked.

"Yeah. Just. . . it's so deep like this."

"Too much?"

"Almost. Feels good though. Don't stop."

"I won't. I'm never going to stop fucking you."

"That. . . will be. . . awkward. Ahh." Bruce's hand stuttered to a stop on his cock.

"Hang on." Clark shifted slightly, changed his angle, increased his rhythm just a bit. Bruce breathed out in a luscious sigh. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I was thinking," Clark said. Bruce cracked an eye at him.

"Oh by all means. Don't let me stop you."

"I was thinking, is this weird?"

Bruce looked at him incredulously. "Your cock is balls deep in my ass. And this is the question you're asking?"

"No, I just. . . shut up." He sped up slightly, and Bruce's lips parted, his eyes slid shut again. "I meant, is it weird that this is so. . . natural. You know what I mean."

"Mm." Bruce's hands were stroking his forearms, up and down. "We've been ready for this a long time."

"Yeah," Clark said. "Oh God you feel so good."

"From the first time I met you."

" _Fuck_ —me too. _Bruce_."

"Faster."

"It's okay like this?"

"Stop talking and fuck me."

"Can you. . . come again." Clark bit his lip to beat back the pleasure that threatened to pull him under. 

"Don't know," Bruce said lazily. "You wouldn't think so. But you. . . _fuck!_ "

Clark had bent Bruce's right leg a bit, adjusted his angle again. From the look on Bruce's face, that had been the right spot. "Oh Jesus," Bruce panted. "Oh God don't stop."

"I'm gonna come in you," Clark said. "I won't be able to stop, soon."

"Oh God," Bruce said again. His grip on his cock was tightening. "Fuck _fuck_ don't stop."

"Okay, I'm just gonna fuck you now."

"What the hell were you—waiting for— _Jesus!_ "

Clark pounded into him, knowing he was hitting the spot with every thrust. Bruce was making a strangled sound. And then the clench around the base of his cock began, in rhythmic waves, and he watched as heavy dollops of cream landed on Bruce's chest, as Bruce's face contorted in pleasure. 

"Got to fuck you," Clark panted, pushing in more and faster, even as Bruce cried out, because Clark knew it was a bit too much sensation. The thick spurt of his own come caught him by surprise, pulled him under. He could feel the pulse in his balls as he groaned through it. Bruce would be so full of his come, so wet with it.

He tipped forward and seized Bruce's mouth, kissing him through the last spasms. Bruce was writhing against him, strangely eager, but Bruce had come hard, so he didn't think—

"Clark." Not a writhe of eagerness then, but of increasing discomfort. 

"Sorry—sorry." He eased out, rubbing at Bruce's thighs, the curve of his beautiful ass. "Sorry," he said, with a last kiss to Bruce's inner thigh. He collapsed beside him, and Bruce rolled toward him, resting his head on Clark's chest. That had been another revelation: Bruce seeking his touch, Bruce wanting his touch. They lay on Clark's wide bed, sweaty, drained. Clark interlaced their fingers.

"Until the day I die," Clark mused, "that will always be my favorite thing. Watching you come." He wiped at Bruce's chest with a corner of the sheet, cleaning him. 

"If there were a market for filthy Hallmark cards," Bruce said, "you would have it cornered. I need to think about getting back."

"I know. It's about nine in the morning, in Gotham. I have to get to work, too. I wish we could just stay here, all day."

"Well, better this than the conference room, I will admit."

"Hey," Clark said, smiling. He nudged at Bruce's head. "At least I locked the door."

"Mm. That was your idea of securing the environment, was it. Might as well take care of this before one of us forgets about it." And he swung his legs abruptly over the bed and reached for the monitor and keyboard on the wall. 

"What are you doing?" Clark mumbled sleepily. Maybe he could come in late today. Maybe he could make something up.

"Just covering our tracks. Locking the doors is not what I would call sufficient security, on the Watchtower."

"I forget," Clark said with a stretch, "that the Watchtower was designed by the world's most paranoid individual."

"Damn right. I'm just wiping the video footage, in case anyone ever gets. . ." 

Clark raised his head. "What is it?"

Bruce was silent. He was clicking more keys, quickly, a frown on his face. "Bruce, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said, after another minute. "Just trying to remember all my access codes."

"One day your paranoia will get the better of you."

"Well, that day is not this day. You want first shower?"

"Mmm. How about joint shower?"

Bruce smirked at him. "That sounds productive. I'm sure you'll be on time to work if we do that. Get in the shower. I need to check in with Alfred. Also, Damian has a geometry project due tomorrow, and I promised him I would look over it. The first draft was less than promising."

Clark leaned across the bed to kiss his shoulder. He considered telling him that what he had said was maybe the sexiest thing he had ever heard. Seeing Bruce's devotion to his family did things to Clark's insides, and made his chest-crunching love for this man collapse into a dense neutron star of adoration. But he wouldn't burden Bruce just yet with everything he felt. They had time, and he could wait. For now, he could say it with his body, and with his actions. "Okay," he said. "First shower it is then."

He saw Bruce reach for his phone as he slid the bathroom door shut. He left it slightly ajar, though, just in case Bruce changed his mind about that shower.

* * *

Barry listened to the shower running in the other room, as he scanned a few lab results on his laptop. Hal would probably fuss that he was getting work done on his "sick day," but there would be less stress waiting for him in the morning if he could at least stay on top of things today. The phone beside him binged, and he reached for it without looking to see if it was Hal's or his. 

_You little shit_ , read the text from Bruce.

So, Hal's then. 

Barry bit his lip and considered. Then he started typing. _This is Barry_ , he wrote. _Hal is in the shower._

_Then tell him he and I will be having a conversation which he will not enjoy._

Barry set the phone down, still thinking. After another minute, he picked it up again. _Bruce_ , he wrote. _I know what he did. It wasn't for the reasons you're thinking. And it was at least partially my fault._

There was a pause at that. _Did you enjoy yourselves then?_ read the next text. Barry fought down the blush. 

_I didn't mean it like that_ , he wrote. _Please believe me how sorry Hal is. He and I have already talked about this, a lot. And it was really an accident anyway._

 _An accident_ , wrote Bruce. _That feed was accessed twice, with audio. If that's an accident, then I am going to accidentally plant my foot in his ass, which should have happened years ago._

Barry scrubbed at his face and sighed. _You're right_ , he replied. _Everything you're saying is right. It was an incredible violation of privacy. I'm not saying it wasn't._

_I can have him out of the League for this. You realize that._

_Yes_ , Barry wrote. _You would be within your rights. But I'm pretty sure sex in the conference room isn't exactly condoned in the by-laws, either. Look, I'm not trying to defend what he did. I'm just asking you, this once, to let it go._

_Why should I do that?_

_Because I'm the one asking it. Because we're friends, and I'm asking you to trust me on this one_. 

The pause was so long this time that Barry assumed Bruce had tossed the phone away in disgust and stalked off. He had gone to refill his coffee and come back when he saw that Bruce had replied. _Because you're asking it, then._

_Thank you_ , he wrote.

_Try to keep your boy out of trouble._

Barry tried not to smile at that one, and failed. _Your boy_. It shouldn't be making him flush with pleasure like that, to hear Hal referred to as his. Bruce hadn't meant it as a compliment. Or maybe he had; there was never any telling with Bruce. Any word he said could be taken about a thousand different ways. And maybe it was low, to trade on his friendship with Bruce like that. But with the bundle of issues Hal was carrying around, the last thing Barry wanted for him was a confrontation with Bruce.

"You done with my phone there?" Hal was rubbing the towel on his hair, while he dripped onto Barry's floor. 

"Yep," Barry said, and the swipe that deleted his entire conversation with Bruce was too fast for Hal even to have noticed, as he set the phone back down. "Just checking your search history. For the record, Wu-Tang Clan is not a Chinese restaurant, and dental plaque is not a symptom of genital herpes."

"Give me that," and Hal snatched his phone back. 

"You're naked," Barry said with a grin.

"And you're four," Hal said, bending to kiss him. The great thing about using his speed force, was that while Hal might have more muscle on him, Barry could push him through the door and flat onto his back in bed before Hal even saw it coming. "Cheater," he murmured against Barry's lips.

* * *

Hal took a deep breath before he placed his hand on the doorpad. He was steeled to it, and he knew what he had to do. That didn't make it any easier. He was also not what anyone would call a coward, but he would have been happier to face down the entire Black Lantern corps than have the conversation he was about to have. He stood there and waited, and soon enough the little green light dinged beside the doorpad, and the door slid open. The pause had been long enough, though, to be meaningful.

Bruce was sitting at his desk by the window in his quarters, working on some sort of report, probably. He was in the suit, but his cowl was pushed back. He did not turn around. Hal took another deep breath.

"It was unforgivable," he said quietly. Bruce did not turn around, or stop typing. "What I did. You don't have to say anything. We don't ever have to talk about it. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry."

The typing stopped. "I would have thought Barry was faster with the delete button than that," Bruce said. 

"Oh, he's pretty smooth. But those phones you gave us have some pretty advanced security features, and guess who's figured out most of them."

Bruce snorted. The typing resumed. "You'd be easier to take," he said, "if you were stupid." 

"Thanks. . . I. . . think?"

Bruce spun in his chair, abruptly, and looked him over. He didn't ask Hal to sit down. Something about that once-over made Hal feel about eleven years old. He wondered if that was what every Robin had felt, at some point. "Anyway," he said. "I thought you should hear it from me, and not from Barry. He means well, but I'm a grown-up."

The arch of Bruce's brow said what he thought about that. "Also," Hal said. "I know how you feel about justice. So I. . . well, _we_ , actually. . . made a little something for you. A little return of the favor. You can watch it, or you can throw it in the trash, but. . . it's yours. It seemed only right." He placed the small data disk on the corner of Bruce's desk. Bruce's eyes watched it. 

"It's what you think it is," Hal said. "Watch it alone or with company, up to you. It's actually not bad. I didn't even do any editing, though I was tempted. My left is not my best side."

"You're serious," Bruce said. 

"Like I said, it seemed like justice. No one has to know, if you don't want. Just, next time you feel like getting off, it will be there. If you want it."

Bruce was back to glaring at him, expressionlessly. "I'm sorry," Hal said. "I know that doesn't make up for what I did. I'm really just here to apologize."

"All right," Bruce said. He spun back to his monitor. Hal stood there for another minute or so, wondering if he should say something else, or if Bruce was going to say something. Being made to feel like a misbehaving Robin was beginning to annoy him.

"You know, being a dick to people who apologize to you is not really the way to encourage them to do it again," Hal pointed out.

"Quit while you're ahead," murmured the voice from the chair. Hal winced. 

"Right," he said. "Got it." The door slid open for him as he retreated, and a final glance showed still no motion from the chair. He shook his head as he walked down the corridor, back to the Watchtower's canteen. There was no predicting that strangely disturbed man, and Hal was done trying. Sure, the sex on that video feed had looked pretty damn good, but he still felt sorry as hell for Clark.

* * *

Clark straddled a chair in the Cave and frowned.

"What," Bruce said. He was making adjustments to his belt, working with the magnifying lenses and a tiny soldering instrument, and he peered up like an irritated owl, a comparison Clark thought it best not to voice.

"Nothing," he said. "You keep on working."

"Well I can't now. Your brooding is destroying my concentration." 

"Did you honestly just complain about someone else's brooding?"

"Your brooding is very loud. What's the matter?"

"What makes you think something's the matter?"

Even behind the lenses, Clark could catch the rolled eyes. "Okay, fine," he said. "Nothing big. I just had a very strange conversation with Lantern."

"Aren't they all?"

"This one was stranger than most. I was on the Watchtower this morning, because I had monitor duty last night, and as I got on the elevator, Lantern was there. He said good morning, I said good morning."

"He was courteous?"

"Well, yes."

"I see your point."

"Smart ass. I wish you'd give him a break, every now and again. Anyway, we ride in silence, and then as he's about to get out, he holds the door open, looks at me, and says, _I just want you to know I'm sorry_. And then he walks off."

"Hmph," Bruce said. 

"Do you have any idea what that was all about?" 

"You're asking me if I have any idea about the inner machinations of Jordan's mind."

Clark gave him a shrewd look. "So if I needed to know, you would tell me," he said.

"Yes." 

"And this is about you not telling me exactly what Hal has done that he feels he needs to apologize for, because if you did tell me, I would probably kill him."

"Yes."

"Huh," Clark said. "The world I inhabit just gets stranger and stranger every day. Why are you looking out for Lantern all of a sudden?"

"Because," Bruce said, pulling off his lenses and setting his instruments aside. "Not everything is worth talking about. And also because he's a good man. When he remembers it." 

Clark gave him a cock-eyed smile, just looking at him for a minute. He got up from his chair. He leaned over Bruce and brushed his lips against Bruce's cheek, and Bruce lifted his cheek into the caress, just a millimeter. Not anything anyone else would have noticed, or maybe even felt. But it wrung Clark's heart. 

"Maybe so," Clark said. "But I know a better one." 

He headed up the stairs, and was at the top landing when Bruce said his name. "Yeah?" he answered.

"You're staying tonight?"

"I thought I would," Clark said carefully. Bruce had issued the invitation earlier, but he knew better than to push for more than Bruce could give, or to crowd him. "That all right?"

"Yes. I was just thinking. . . . I was thinking, tonight might be a good night to watch a movie together."

There was something in Bruce's tone, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He could figure it out later, though, and he trusted Bruce. "All right," he said. "That sounds good. Movie night it is." 

And he whistled on his way up the rest of the stairs, and all the way out the door into the Manor. 

 


	2. Epilogue

Clark stretched out his feet on the plump sofa in Bruce's bedroom, getting a little more comfortable. It was surprising, Bruce's sudden desire to see a movie with him—a little more domestic and date night-y than anything they had yet done. So far, the last few weeks of their life together had been like, well, their life together, just with more sex. But clearly Bruce was feeling the inadequacy of that, and wanted to increase the romance factor a little bit. It was odd, but Clark wanted to be encouraging. 

"This is nice," he said. "I had no idea you even had a screen in here."

"Mm," Bruce said, clicking a remote at the painting above the fireplace. The painting slid back to reveal a nice-size screen. 

"Impressive," Clark said. "Very Bond villain-y."

"The good guys can have technology too. You need another pillow?"

"No, this is great. Are you going to come sit down?"

"In a minute. Just let me get this queued up."

"Any hints as to what we're watching? An action flick?"

"You could say that, yes. Want me to have Alfred bring up some popcorn?"

"We can make our own popcorn. That's half the fun of it."

Bruce gave him a look. "When people say doing it yourself is half the fun, I tend to think they mean half as fun as having someone else do it for you."

"Oh, come sit down on the sofa with me, Lord Fauntleroy. Should we maybe turn off some of those lights?"

Bruce clicked off most of the lights. The room was now romantically dim. "You could take off your shoes," Clark suggested. "You know, get comfortable." He was beginning to be more than a little curious what sort of movie Bruce would pick for a date night. He had said action, but somehow he had a hard time imagining Bruce relaxing and enjoying a film that looked a little too much like his daily life to be entirely comfortable—or worse, a film that glorified or idealized violence. On the other hand, he had an equally hard time imagining Bruce kicking back to an earnest subtitled foreign film, full of complexity and brooding. Surely there was enough of both of those things right here in the Manor.

"Can you see all right?" Bruce asked.

"Couldn't be better."

Bruce sat on the other end of the sofa—quite a bit farther away than Clark had hoped for, but he didn't shove Clark's feet off. There would be plenty of time during the movie to maneuver Bruce a little closer. Maybe it was a horror flick, and Clark could cringe and laugh and cover his eyes and edge down toward Bruce's end of the sofa. Bruce clicked the remote, and the screen went dark, then bright. There was a scratchy, amateurish sound to the audio. So maybe it was an art film after all.

There were no credits yet, no title. The scene opened on a bedroom, and a bed with rumpled sheets. 

"Did one of the boys recommend this to you?" Clark whispered.

"Not exactly."

"What's it—" And then he stopped talking. Stopped being able to talk actually. "That," he managed, and swallowed. "That's—is that—"

He sat there in stunned silence, and then the reality of what he was actually watching began to dawn on him, like a slow tightening in his abdomen, where it felt like all the air had just been punched out. "Is that. . . are they. . . do you. . . _OH MY GOD!!_ " 

He clapped his hand to his eyes in horror. "Oh my God, Bruce, turn it off! Turn it off! That's—that's Hal and Barry, oh my God, TURN IT OFF! My eyeballs are going to—Bruce, come on, turn it the hell off, at least turn down the _sound_ , I can't take it, what are you—oh my _GOD!_ "

There was another sound in addition to the excruciating ones coming from the TV, and then he looked over to where Bruce had been sitting. He wasn't there anymore. He had slid to the floor, and the sound was the sound of Bruce laughing. Not just laughing—doubled over in laughter, head thrown back in an ecstasy of pure delight, and he was watching Clark.

"You. . ." Clark said, in incredulous outrage. And then he picked up a sofa cushion, one of the really heavy ones. "You piece of _shit_ ," Clark said. "You conniving, sadistic little—" He whacked him with the cushion, as hard as he could without using any super-strength on the man, though it was no more than he deserved. 

"You childish, immature, cruel—" Every whack just got him more convulsions of laughter from Bruce, so finally he just launched himself, wrestling Bruce to the floor. 

"Your face," Bruce gasped, and Clark pressed the pillow on him to cut off his air. It didn't matter what he did, Bruce just laughed like he was no longer in control of his own body, laughed like Clark had never seen him laugh in all the years he had known him. Laughed like a freaking loon, actually, like he didn't have a care in the world—no city to protect, no family to guide, no League to lead, no waves of sociopathic evil to fight off. Bruce's laugh was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, and Clark couldn't help it, he started laughing too, just at the sheer infectious joy of it. 

"Sirs? Is everything all right?"

"Ah—fine, Alfred, we're, ah, fine," Bruce called. They had rolled themselves behind the sofa, so neither of them was visible to Alfred. God only knew what the poor man thought. Bruce was still silently shaking with laughter. Clark held a hand on his face to smother him. 

"Very good, sir, if you say so. I did hear some rather alarming noises. Are you certain I can't bring you anything?"

"Certain," Bruce managed, when Clark allowed him a gasp of air. 

"Then I shall retire, sir. I do hope you enjoy your movie," he said, as he clicked the door shut, and at this Bruce could no longer contain himself, but rolled away from Clark, helpless again with laughter. Clark leaned against the back of the sofa and let himself laugh even louder, aiming a kick at Bruce. No one would ever believe it, even if he told them. Only he got to see Bruce like this; only he knew the strange totality of this man, and saw him in unguarded moments like this one. The thought filled him with unbearable tenderness, and this time when he launched himself at Bruce, it was to cut off his air with a kiss, which Bruce returned as passionately. 

"You've scarred me for life," Clark whispered, in between kisses. "I'm never going to be able to look at either one of them again. I'm never going to be able to have sex again."

"Calling your bluff," Bruce said, that same infuriating smirk on his face, as his fingers began to work Clark's zipper.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, more fannish writing and discussion can be found on my tumblr [here](http://fabula-unica.tumblr.com/).


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